She wakes up in a familiar bed in the middle of the night.
Her hand reaches out over the pale yellow comforter in search of something.
She finds nothing there but a crumpled pillow.
It feels chilled and detached despite the fact that she's been hugging it all night.
The air outside of the covers is cold and unforgiving.
Her mind races.
She feels a lump in her throat and the shiver of anxiety creeps up the back of her neck.
She looks around at darkness.
It makes no difference whether her eyes are open or closed.
She takes a deep breath and starts compiling lists in her head.
Lists of things to pack for her next trip.
Lists of books she needs to read.
Lists of errands she needs to run.
She is listlessly listing.
She rolls over and follows the outline of her phone, catching what light is left in the room.
She fingers the charger cord and touches the screen.
She decides to check the time.
It's too early to wake up.
She realizes that she needs to go back to sleep.
She squints to make-out the shapes in the room.
Her pupils dilate.
Now everything is where she left it.
Her oversized, striped shirt hangs from her easel accompanied by her wide-rimmed fedora.
The heater blows a breeze passed it and it flutters momentarily.
She's thirsty and overheated, but can't move.
She ponders her laziness and wonders why she rather stay where she is instead of providing herself more comfort with a glass of water and a peeled back blanket.
Her hand creeps back towards the phone.
She considers calling.
She stops herself, rolls back over and hugs the pillow.
She sighs and forces her eyes shut.
She wakes up.
She gets ready for work.
